Welcome Home
by vaticancameos
Summary: A short ficlet where John and Sherlock know each other before Afghanistan. Based off a lovely piece of fan art by Voodoodling. Rated T because I'm not sure where it's going.
1. The Longest Taxi Ride

**Author's Note: Here's the link to the fanart. Feel free to review, and tell me what you think! ** post/65971340577/voodooling-welcome-home-one-of-those-aus

Sherlock Holmes had never been a patient man, and he certainly had no intention to start now. His foot tapped impatiently on the floor of the cab, and he kept glancing at his watch. His phone buzzed from within his coat pocket, and he glanced at the screen.

**3 men found dead in a warehouse. **

**Locked from within. Will you come?**

**GL**

Sherlock quickly typed out a response.

**No. Busy.**

**SH**

* * *

Meanwhile, in New Scotland Yard, Lestrade stared at his phone, speechless. Sherlock had never turned down a case in the 14 years he had been working with them. He wondered what was so important that made Sherlock turn down a case.

**You've never turned down a case **

**before. What's going on?**

**GL**

* * *

Inside the cab, Sherlock debated how much to tell Lestrade. They were nearing Heathrow Airport, and he wanted to get to the terminal as soon as he could. He finally decided on three words that would tell Lestrade all he needed to know.

**John's coming home.**

**SH**

* * *

Greg smiled down at his phone. He was jealous of what Sherlock and John had. It was a friendship, one that could have turned into something more. Then, John got shipped off to Afghanistan and everything changed. But now he was coming home, and Greg thought he should play matchmaker. After all, he had a 20 quid bet to win with Sally.


	2. Heathrow Airport

**Author's Note: I'm still working on Bulldogs and Bumblebees, I just needed to work on something else for a while. Next chapter for this will hopefully be up soon, and please review! If I got something wrong, please let me know. Thank you so much for reading!**

John Watson had always been a patient man. You had to be if you were to live with Sherlock Holmes. But now, he was going through the same motions Sherlock was going through. His foot tapped impatiently on the floor of the airplane, much to the displeasure of the woman sitting next to him. She had asked him to stop, but then he would start drumming his fingers or bouncing his well-muscled leg. Finally, she accepted the fact that John was not going to stop moving until they landed.

While waiting to arrive at Heathrow, there were a multitude of things running through John's head. Among them were his growing feelings for his flatmate. _John Hamish Watson. You have been shot at. You have shot at others. Bloody hell, you fought in a war! And you still can't find the courage to tell your flatmate/friend/colleague/whatever-the-hell-he-is that you are madly in love with him. When you get back to Baker Street, you are _going_ to tell him, and then possibly kiss him into next week._ John was very much hoping that the "possibly" would turn into a "definitely." But, that was still to be determined.

A monotone voice came over the loudspeaker. "We are now beginning our descent to Heathrow Airport. Please turn off your electronic devices, and return you seats and tray-tables to their upright positions. Today is December 10, and it is 3:48 pm, and 9º Celsius. We hope you've enjoyed your flight." Finally. Once they landed, it was just a 30 minute drive to London. 30 minutes until Baker Street, Mrs. Hudson, and Sherlock. John sighed happily at the thought, and began imagining their reunion.

The plane tilted slightly to the right, allowing John a gorgeous view of the London skyline. The sun was just beginning to set, basking the city in its golden glow. While gazing out the window, John reflected on how lucky he was. Not every soldier could come home for Christmas. A peace treaty was being signed over in Afghanistan, and it was no longer necessary for him to stay.

Minutes passed, and the ground grew closer and closer. Landing gears deployed, and the plane hit the ground. It continued to speed down the runway, causing the good doctor to lean forward in his seat a little. Finally, the plane was slowing down, and it pulled into the terminal. The seatbelt signs clicked off, and there was a bustle of movement as everyone tried to get off the plane.

While everyone else was pushing and shoving, John sat serenely in his seat. Then, once everyone in front of him exited, he grabbed his army-issue duffel bag, and got off the plane. God, it felt good to stretch his legs. He stopped by the baggage claim to pick up his other bag, also army-issued. John could've fit everything in one, but he needed a place to put his Browning. There it lay, nestled among socks, pants and a few jumpers.

"Anything to declare?" The lady manning customs sounded bored, and wasn't likely to check his bag. He shook his head, and she held out her hand. John stared at it for a moment, then realized she wanted his passport. He fumbled around in his pocket for a moment, then pulled it out, slightly flustered. A short time later, she handed it back, and soon, John was on his way.

Now that they were safe on the ground, John turned his phone back on. No new messages. At this, John's face fell. He was hoping there would be a text from Sherlock. But, he supposed that was too much to ask of his aloof flatmate. John was worried that after 11 months of deployment, that Sherlock had forgotten him. Maybe he was never aware that he left. All these thoughts and more were racing through his mind at a million miles an hour, as he walked to the doors of Heathrow.


	3. First Embrace

**Author's Note: John and Sherlock meet, finally! Next chapter might have some sexy-times, but I'm still unsure. There will be a great deal of kissing though.**

After what felt like hours, Sherlock's cab finally arrived at Heathrow. He passed the cabbie a wad of bills, and walked out without a word. His Belstaff billowed behind him as he half-ran towards the terminal. John's plane landed in a few minutes, and he wanted to be there to greet him. While John had been gone, Sherlock had done some thinking himself. Something along the lines of, _I wonder what the effects of smoke are on the lungs of a corpse. I'd ask Molly for a body, but she seems to be avoiding me. Maybe John can ask her out, then she'll be in a good mood. No, John is mine. I need to make him mine. Amazing John, brilliant John, fantastic John. _

Sherlock kept on walking, until he saw the giant sign, NO ENTRY. _I suppose this is where I wait. I despise waiting. _As he waited, he planned out various experiments in his head, composed a violin song, and thought about four more ways to kill Mycroft so no one could find the body. An eternity later, he saw a bowed blond head in the crowd. His lips turned upward into one of his rare smiles. John loved it when he smiled.

John was tired, and wanted to get back to Baker Street. As he walked through the airport, he didn't notice that Sherlock was staring at him. When he raised his head to see if Harry was there, he saw something even better.

Instantly, John's whole demeanor changed. His back went ramrod straight, and he smiled, _really_ smiled for the first time in 11 months. _I'm going to walk over there calmly. Walk nice and slowly, nice and, oh sod it all. _John broke into a run, duffel bag bouncing against his shoulder. Oh God, he had missed his flatmate so much. He had even missed finding body parts in the microwave, or fridge, or sugar bowl, or pretty much anywhere.

As John ran towards him, Sherlock opened his arms. The diminutive doctor ran into them, and the pair embraced. John pulled away a little, and looked up at his curly-haired companion. Sherlock smiled down at him. In that moment, both men could read exactly what the other was thinking.

"I think I might be in love with you." John whispered, a bit unnecessarily. Sherlock laughed his deep, baritone laugh. John closed his eyes and let that glorious sound wash over him. God, he had missed that sound. Sherlock pulled him back into his embrace, and replied, "The feelings are reciprocated."

By now, some of the airport-goers were staring at the two men. Some looked disgusted, while others looked on with a little smile on their face.

Again, John pulled away slightly. He reached up, and grabbed Sherlock's face in his hands. He then proceeded to pull that porcelain face down, until they were eye to eye. Then, he leaned in, and placed a delicate kiss on his flatmate's thin, pale lips. Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise, then purred, "I think now is a good time to go to Baker Street."

"Agreed." John replied, in exactly the same tone. Sherlock casually let his hands swing by his sides, until his golden-haired companion intertwined his short, tan fingers with his flatmate's long, pale ones. Together, they walked out of the airport. Just the two of them against the rest of the world.


End file.
